Poem: Divine Door

-

A Divine Door
doesn't have to lead
into a church.

It is a portal
to deep and mysterious
places.

The mouth of a cave
gaping wide
with siren song of adventure.

An entrance
to the depths of
your sleeping mind.

An exit
to the Light
on the opposite side.

Old rotted wood
stone scoured clean
peeling paint.

Where does it lead?
Where is that sound
coming from?

What are dreams made of?
The dust that floats
in the middle of a sunbeam.

Do you have the strength
the courage, the imagination
to walk on through?


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: Keeper of the Estate (Story in Eight Stanzas, Tanka Style)

-
I. Reading of the will: they are all perched on their seats to hear what they get what has been bequeathed to them all the scheming is for this. II. A taste of power not content with just a bite they want more and more until the entire pie is all theirs to swallow whole. III. The lawyer looks up meets their eyes unflinchingly hides a little smile She had warned him about this Revenge from beyond the grave. IV. He speaks pleasantries and betrays no emotions because it's his job. Even as a sense of pride wells up from within his breast. V. There's shock and dismay crossing all of their faces They can't believe it The very nerve of her denying what they deserve. VI. Of course they protest vowing to contest the will swearing up and down fighting what they think is theirs and accusing each other. VII. Problems with power: any hint of betrayal root it out right now Extirpate it completely only then can you be safe. VII. He sits back to watch this story replays itself and he's...
Read more

Poem: Life in the Shadows

-
Skullduggery in the back alleys and run down warehouses of the city the rain washes away all evidence of the blood. Life in the shadows is hard you learn to melt away see but not be seen close your ears to the screams and the cries of the devoured. No one judges you for what you have to do to survive. The ones who do come from the moral high ground and would not survive a single night. Your soul is already damned That is cold hard fact. What matters is what you make of your short existence in the limited time you are here. Will you be one of the forgotten?  
Read more

Poem: Bastille Day (le 14 juillet)

-
Have fun storming the prison free the prisoners lettres de cachet no rhyme or reason of why they are there. No more kings or serfs feudalism is dead Declarations of the Rights of Man all are equal under the eyes of the Creator above. A celebration of freedom parades down the street a show of mighty brotherhood devotion to the cause Vive le France, monsieur.
Read more